This post was originally titled: So You Think I Have Issues? Wow. Are You Like a Detective or Something?

I have what I like to call Massive Coffin Anxiety Disorder. I just hate coffins so much. When I was a kid, I refused to say the word coffin, because it gave me such extreme willies. If I accidentally thought about a coffin, my heart would race, and the thought would get lodged in my brain for at least an hour. There was a girl in my cabin at Camp Wyonegonic named Nicole Coffey, and I was afraid of her because her name sounded so much like Coffin. God help you if your last name actually was Coffin. I wouldn’t shake your hand, or look at you, or tour your historic home. Laugh-In depressed me because of the coffin in the opening credits. At Halloween, if someone used cardboard coffin decorations, I would not partake of their candy. I once (and only once) watched the movie Oliver. In this movie, Oliver sits in a room full of coffins and SINGS. How can you sing when you’re sitting in a room full of coffins? There’s coffins in there! One time, when I was eight, I was watching The Carol Burnett Show (and stuffing my face with jellybeans) and they showed a coffin, and I threw up on the sofa. I never watched The Carol Burnett Show again. (And for the record, yes, of course I continued to eat jellybeans.)So, you see that I am disturbed about coffins. Don't like me no coffins. No sir.The reason I even bring this up is that yesterday at work, Human Resources sent around this email about Living Wills and how to create one if you’re so inclined, and I was all, OH MY GOD! If they take out my feeding tubes, I will die and perhaps go in a coffin. Holy SHIT. That is unacceptable! I got all bummed out about it, because a) I really do not want to die, and b) If I do die, I most certainly do not want to be in a coffin, creeped out for all eternity.I know there are some wonderful coffin alternatives. Like you can be burned to a pile of crunchy ashes and sprinkled under your favorite tree! Or hacked apart by a team of eager medical students! But I don’t have a favorite tree. And, thanks to an especially arrogant former flame, I don’t much care for medical students either.So, here’s my plan: I want to be stuffed.In the evenings, in the summer, you can prop me up on the porch with a glass of wine in my hand and a good book on my lap.Or would that be too weird?